


In The Land of Gods and Monsters

by Ldyghst



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Prompt Fill, Were-Creatures, Werecats, challenge fill, spn_masquerade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3844300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ldyghst/pseuds/Ldyghst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: High fantasy AU. Jensen is a sorcerer--oracle, necromancer, healer, up to you--and he narrowly avoids being mauled by what is clearly some sort of were-beast one night. He manages to wound the creature, and discovers soon afterwards, it is the young man in town who Jensen has been eyeing from a distance with no small amount of attraction. The young man is clearly a danger to the community, to himself, but now what?  </p>
<p>For spn_masquerade Round 1 Summer 2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Land of Gods and Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [SPN_Masquerade ](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/)  
> 
> 
> Round 1
> 
> Summer 2014
> 
> Title From [_Gods and Monsters_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FkgMbiVi_3E)by Lana Del Rey  
>  Originally posted [here](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/2393.html?thread=47449#t47449).

Coming into the woods to look for wild herbs in the middle of the night had probably not been his best decision ever. Jensen hides behind a formation of large boulders as he hears the beast crashing through the underbrush to his left. It had chased him a great distance, and he had lost his gathering satchel and lantern in the process, but the full moon is nearly enough to light his way sufficiently.

A yowl echoes through the forest. Jensen holds his breath and hopes that the loud beating of his heart doesn’t give away his hiding spot. The sound of crunching leaves is nearing, and Jensen fumbles with the sheath and dagger on his belt. The buckle clanks as he wields the dagger, holding it out in a shaking fist.

A hiss to his left has him pressing himself back into the boulder further in a futile attempt to get away from the beast. He prepares himself for an attack, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the hissing continues, and is joined with a grumbling whine. The beast is circling his location. Hunting him. He tightens his grip on the dagger, hoping—probably foolishly—that the weapon would scare the beast away.

A face appears before him, the moonlight reflecting silvery off of its fur. The beast’s eyes are bright, glowing gold, and its fangs glint brightly. Its wide, flat nose twitches as it lets out a rumbling hiss, and its ears—topped with tufts of fur—sit atop its boxy head. It looks like a lynx, but monstrously big.

It is the eyes that tip Jensen off that something isn’t right. They glow with magic, and he knows instantly that he is dealing with something unusual.

The beast grumbles at him—a gruff huff of breath—and then pounces. Jensen yelps, and slashes the air with the dagger. Somehow, his dagger connects with the beast and a pained yowl echoes violently off the trees and boulders.

The beast bounces back, large tufted paws swiping angrily at its cheek. Jensen readies himself for another attack. But instead of coming after him again, the beast turns and lopes off into the trees.

The tension leaves Jensen’s body after a few long moments of hearing the beast crash through the leaves. He still holds his dagger, fingers painfully locked around the hilt.

:::

Jensen wakes the next morning disoriented and groggy. The air around him is cool and moist with dew and birdsong flows melodically through the trees. He had fallen asleep in the woods, still pressed against the boulders. His dagger lay beside him in the leaf litter, the blade dipped in dried blood and loose fur. He gathers himself stiffly and begins the search for his lantern and bag.

:::

When he enters the village several hours later, it is just as peaceful as ever. The houses are clustered together in small familial circles, smoke billowing lazily out of their chimneys.

His home stands alone along the western border of the village, just as quaint as everyone else’s but the sky above the chimney clear.

The town’s population is large enough to warrant their own mage. It is a job he is proud of. All of the townspeople come to him for various needs, but there is a distrust of his magic in general—old stigmas still followed his kind.

He opens his shuttered windows when he enters his home, allowing the fresh morning air to chase the traces of stuffiness away before restarting the fire that had smoldered in the night.

Emptying his gathering satchel on the long, wooden table that took up most of his open first floor room, he takes in what he had managed to find before being chased by the beast. Yarrow, a few large heads of thistle, lamb’s ear, and wild strawberry leaves litter the wooden surface. Not bad, but he needs to stock up some more before the winter set in and his stores deplete.

He starts his kettle over the fire and pulls a jar from the large cupboard that houses his personal stash of remedies and teas. He shakes the jar, making sure he gets an even mix of the contents—chamomile, mint, and raspberry leaves.

As he waits for the water to boil, he climbs the stairs to the second floor. Whereas the lower floor is open and catered mainly to his village patrons, the upper level is sectioned into four rooms for his living quarters—a small library, a bedroom, a washroom, and second, smaller bedroom. He disrobes and washes up in the washroom quickly before changing into a clean set of cloths and making his way into the library. He grabs a thick, leather-bound tome from a shelf and makes his way back down to the first floor.

The kettle is steaming and he pours some of his tea into a round of linen before tying it off, plunking it into a tankard, and covering it with the boiling water. As it steeps, he grabs a few slices of bread and some cheese before taking a seat at the table. He flips open the heavy book, searching for the section on werebeast. Knowing his late mentor, Jim had encountered one or two in his lifetime.

The section he finds is small, but very detailed.

_Werebeast come in any animal form and are guided by moonlight. But can also—if ballasted—control their other self at any time. They are at battle with their other half until finding their ballast. This ballast—either person or purpose—can help their two sides become one. Most werebeast do not know they are such when their abilities first appear. Hereditary or latent abilities seemingly manifest at any point in life. Sometimes as even old as eight and sixty—as observed by this record keeper. Older ages may also be possible. But the change takes a toll on the body, and survival is rare…_

Jensen continues to read and becomes increasingly convinced that the beast he had encountered had indeed been a werebeast…werelynx. Someone in the village was battling with themselves, and Jensen fears for their safety. If the villagers found out, there would be panic and a hunt. They would no doubt come to him for answers as to how to find and kill their fellow villager.

Jensen has no doubt that he can find the werebeast, but how to help them after that? He doesn’t know. Finding a ballast—the one person or purpose in an individual’s life was seemingly impossible. Teaching control of an ability? Even trickier—something that had taken years for Jensen.

His own abilities were not the glimmering and shining glamour found in the tales mothers and fathers told their children. They were more earth and intent based. There was no glitter and dancing pumpkins—just dirt, and herbs, and Jensen’s power of intention.

He had learned the hard way that control was delicate. Non-fatally poisoning your mother with homemade tea you were taught to make at school—albeit unintentionally—was not the best way to discover you had a great ability and power as a mage. He had been sent to Jim immediately—only seeing his family once every few months. His mother had never looked at him the same again, but nevertheless had been happy to see him during their visits.

Jensen closes the tome and clears his dishes away, all the while thinking over his plan to find and help the werebeast. He figures that a visit to the village market is due, and he hopes he can develop his plan fully during the short trip.

He buries the fire with ashes, shutters his windows, and grabs his market basket before heading out into the village.

Unlike earlier, there are villagers bustling about. Some wave, and he returns the gesture. Others—mostly the older generation—ignore his presence completely.

The market is busy when he arrives. Village vendors line the streets with tables and wagons full of wares, produce, and livestock. He plucks at a few tables of dried herbs—most for simple cooking—but nothing catches his attention.

“Want a goat, boy? Two silvers for it, couldn’t find a better deal.” A portly, balding man pointed toward a small, skinny goat as Jensen passes. Its eyes are dull with maltreatment and hooves overgrown. Jensen’s heart clenches in sadness and anger. It is an obscenely high price for a sickly goat, but one worth it if he can help the poor animal. He digs around in his pocket and pulls out the two coins before taking the bit of rope the goat was tethered with. He needs to make some distance before his tongue gets the best of him and he dresses down the man in the middle of the village market. As he passes, he intentionally bumps into the man and runs a finger down the belly of his ale gourd willing it to give the man no sense of the drunkenness, but an unbelievable case of the runs.

He walks away with a smirk on his face, the goat slowly trotting behind him. He makes his way to the village leader’s fruit cart and peruses the baskets of pears and apples. He chooses the shiniest apple he can find and wills it to satiate hunger before reaching down and offering it to his new companion. The goat practically swallows it whole before staring up at Jensen with brighter eyes. It would do until they get home and he gets some herbs and a better meal into it.

“That man deserves whatever you did to his ale.” Jared—the town leaders only son—states from beside the cart. Jensen blushes as he meets Jared’s gaze and hands him a few coppers for the apple.

He and Jared have tiptoed around each other since Jensen had moved to the village two years ago. Each seemingly not knowing how to move forward—Jensen out of fear of rejection.

“He’ll be fine in a day or two. At least the goat will be okay, now.”

“I know it will. Won’t keep the older villagers from insisting to Father that you are going to sacrifice it to your ‘evil gods’.”

His voice is full of mischief and his dimpled smile brighter than Jensen has ever seen. But the shadows beneath his eyes and wound along his cheek say differently. The wound registers and Jensen’s stomach immediately turns.

_No_.

“Jensen? Are you okay? You’ve gone ashen.” Jared lays a hand on Jensen’s shoulder.

Jensen has to think clearly, he needs a plan to get Jared back to his home. Where they could talk away from the prying eyes and ears of the villagers.

“Yes. Can you help me get the goat back to my home? I need to pick up some feed for it, and it’s too much for me to carry by myself.”

“Sure.” Again, Jared flashes him a genuine smile and bends to pick up the goat.

:::

Once they are back to Jensen’s home and have corralled the goat in Jensen’s yard, they make their way inside. Jensen offering tea and to look at the wound on Jared’s face.

Once the tea is steeping and Jensen has gathered some supplies, he sets to work on the wound.

“It’s really nothing, Jensen. I woke up with it. Probably just did it in my sleep.” He wiggles and sucks air through his teeth in pain as Jensen smears a pasty mixture of lamb’s ear, spearmint, and ale.

“Jared.” Jensen says and holds a soft lamb’s ear leaf against the cut. They stare at each other for a minute, and then Jared sighs.

“You know don’t you? What I am.” He asks quietly. Jensen is relieved that he doesn’t have to explain to Jared what he is.

“I guessed. Mostly because I’m the one who gave you this.” He presses down on the leaf and wills the mixture to heal the cut.

“I know,” Jared says, his gaze boring into Jensen’s. “That’s when I became aware. My dad…he’s a werebadger. My family thought it had skipped me…apparently I’m just a late bloomer.”

“You became aware…when I wounded you?”

Jared nods, and Jensen steadfastly ignores what that could mean.

When he pulls the leaf away from Jared’s cheek, the wound is completely healed. It shouldn’t have happened that fast. He isn’t even that powerful. Healing was a tricky thing, he can facilitate it but healing someone completely had always been out of reach.

Something must show on Jensen’s face because Jared asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s…uh…it’s healed. Completely”

Jared runs a finger across where the wound had been, smearing the tiny bits of herbs around.

He smiles.

“That’s never happened before.” Jensen whispers.

Suddenly, Jared surges forward and crashes his lips into Jensen’s, and Jensen kisses him back. He cards his fingers through Jared’s hair tugging him closer. Jared growls, and lifts them so Jensen is seated on the end of the table instead of the chair. His mortar and pestle crash to the floor, the bowl cracking as it hits.

“You owe me a new one,” Jensen teases as Jared tugs at his tunic, pushing it up to his armpits. He dives in to nip across Jensen’s chest, flattening his tongue over a nipple. Jensen groans and scratches his nails across Jared’s clothed shoulders.

“Off.” He says, but then makes a sound of discontent when Jared breaks connection with his chest to ease his tunic over his head. He quickly lifts to shed his own tunic and then pulls Jared’s head back down. Jared starts the careful and slow process of licking his way over Jensen’s abs and down the line of hair at his navel.

Jensen watches as Jared unties the fastenings of his britches, and pulls them down. Jensen’s cock pulls free and curves towards his belly, and Jared gives him a sly smile before grasping it and swallowing it down. Jensen’s head bangs back against the table, and he moans so loudly that he knows anyone outside could hear. Thank the gods they had left the windows shuttered.

Jared tongues at the head of his cock and then the slit and then swallows him back down. It bumps the back of his throat before he pulls off.

“Can I ride you?” His voice is husky and his eyes predatory. Jensen nods and reaches up to fumble with the vials on the table. He snags the vial of sweet almond oil and hands it to Jared after he has rid himself of his britches as well.

Jared climbs onto the table, knees on either side of Jensen’s hips. He uncaps the vial and spills the slippery oil onto his fingers before clumsily recapping it. He reaches behind himself, and Jensen is aware of the exact moment that Jared breaches his own hole. His eyes roll back in his head, and he yowls low and animalistic.

In too short of time, Jared reaches back around and hurriedly uncaps the vial with slick hand and coats Jensen’s cock with oil. He throws the vial to the side, and Jensen can’t help but chuckle at his impatience when it shatters against the floor on impact.

Jared grasps the base of Jensen’s cock and unceremoniously sinks down onto it, his eyes slamming shut. The sudden, slick tightness surrounding him is almost enough to make him come right then and there, but he fights the feeling back. Jensen gasps as Jared immediately begins to rock—forward and back, forward and back—and grasps his hips. His thumbs settle perfectly in the groove of Jared’s hipbones.  When Jared opens his eyes, they are the blazing gold of the lynx.

Jensen feels something pass between them, a warmth or feeling of completeness as Jared starts slamming down onto his cock. He meets Jared’s thrusts full on, gripping his hips and no doubt leaving bruises. Jared’s cock is leaking against Jensen’s stomach—the head flushed dark red. Jensen grasps it, intent on jacking him. But Jared immediately clenches down on him and curls forward coming across Jensen stomach and chest. His palms smack onto the table on either side of Jensen’s head and the look on his face—eyes blazing, panting, and flushed—set Jensen over the edge. He comes deep within Jared.

Jared collapses on top of him, and Jensen welcomes his heaviness. Jared nestles his head beneath his chin, his breath caressing Jensen’s collarbone. And Jensen runs a hand up his spine and into his hair.

“You’re my ballast.” Jared sleepy voice is ripe with reverent awe.

 

 


End file.
